What SHOULD Happen to All Mary Sues
by DiableRouge
Summary: This is my take on my aboslute least favorite character. Her name is Mary Sue and she annoys the piss out of me. This is what I think would happen if she were dropped into Middle-earth for REAL. Mwahahaha! Upped the rating to R--I have a potty mouth...
1. Be Careful What You Wish For

DISCLAIMER:  Sadly, I don't own any of these characters…not making any money off my writing (duh)…no copyright infringement intended, blahdy blahdy blah.  The late, great Tolkien is responsible for them all characters and plot elements (except Krystyl who I loathe with a passion, but she will get her just desserts, don't you worry).  If you hate (or love) this story (blame me, not him), go read the original…particularly if you're considering writing a fic of your own.

What SHOULD Happen to All Mary Sues

(Be Careful What you Wish For)

            Krystyl, whose parents had obviously neglected her and never taught her how to spell her own name, lay forlornly on her bed.  _Legolas—she thought.  __Leggy, my dear Leggy.  Ah, *sigh* how do I love thee?—she thought as she regarded the poster, stuck with bubblegum, to the ceiling of her putrid, Pepto Bismol colored room.  Of course, the fact that her walls were a color that would turn the stomach of an intestinal parasite did not change the fact that she was maddeningly beautiful.  Here eyes shone with the light of no less than approximately 16 small galaxies and were some synonym for blue.  And her hair…ah her long, luxurious, beautiful hair was an assortment of shades from black to platinum that, on anyone else, would have looked like a home dye job disaster.  But on her, it was striking._

            She sighed again.  The simple sound conveyed every emotion she felt.  Loneliness.  Sadness.  Unrequited love for her one-true-elven-babe-stud-muffin-love, Legolas. And of course, most of importantly—Angst.  Why couldn't Legolas ride up on his magnificent white steed, Asfaloth (who apparently got passed around more than a fruitcake at Christmas), and take her away from her cruel and tyrannical parents who, though she was already 15, wouldn't even let her stay out past 2 o'clock in the morning, bastards that they were?  They wouldn't even let her spend anymore money going to see Lord of the Rings or buying Lord of the Rings (meaning Legolas) related paraphernalia.  _Oh how I would love to be swept away to Middle Earth and join the Fellowship and make sweet love to my darling Leggy every night under the stars *sigh again*--she thought again._

With a mighty heave, Krystyl rolled out of the bed and gathered up her copy of Fellowship and the Elvish dictionary she'd printed off the Internet (the frustration of trying to translate Sindarin with a Quenya dictionary had not yet deterred her). And with an equally mighty flop, she collapsed, though exceedingly gracefully, onto her blue and yellow flowered comforter.  She began to flip through the dog eared pages, stopping only to read her favorite parts (three guesses as to what THOSE were and the first two don't count) which, of course, were marked by screencaps from the movie.

_It's July, why is it so friggin' cold in here all of a sudden?—she wondered, wiggling down under the covers.  __Jeez, and dark.  That light bulb must be about dead.  Shit, I'd better change it—but she could not put down her book, not because she wanted to finish drooling at the thought of Legolas wielding a bow and the pair of knives of which Tolkien had OBVIOUSLY mistakenly left one out, but because her hands seemed to be stuck to it.  __Odd._

Alas, what befell her next was most unfortunate.  Head first, the book sucked her in, snapped shut and fell innocently on the bed...Her wish (part of it anyway) had been granted…

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AN: OK, I'm writing this as a sort of vacation from my other fic (Destiny's Arrow—if you're interested).  I am on an anti-Mary Sue kick and I wanted to make a more subtle and, sadly, consequently possibly less riotously funny lampoon of the Mary Sue mentality that I hate so much.  So go ahead…Leave me a review.  You know you want to ;)              ~DR


	2. Wait! Where's Arwen?!

What SHOULD Happen to All Mary Sues

(Wait! Where's Arwen?!)

When Krystyl came to, she found that she was lying on a stony riverbank.  Her hair, with its "multi-faceted shimmering highlights," was horribly disheveled but for _her it worked in that tousled, glamorous, Jon Bon Jovi sort of way.  The sun on the water glittered less brilliantly than her cerulean pools.  In transit, her shirt had been mysteriously and inexplicably ripped to reveal her unrealistically impressive cleavage (Shatner would have been proud)._

Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, a great white horse came barreling across the shallow water, nostrils flaring and bells jingling.  Slumped in the saddle was a ratty looking little kid.  _Ew__. He's kinda fat and who in the HELL let him leave the house looking like THAT?  He is SO not an autumn—her infuriating internal monologue commented shallowly._

Krystyl whirled around at the sound of at least nine other horses and about 18 sets of cheap acrylic nails on a chalkboard.  She put her hands over her ears and yelled at the gaggle of horsemen who screeched to a halt at the water's edge,

"What is your problem, assholes?  Who do you think you are the *bleep*ing headless horsemen?  It's not Halloween, you jerks!"  Just then, the biggest and baddest of the black riders, sporting a pair of *flips through thesaurus* crimson eyes, straightened up ominously in his saddle and marched his horse out into the middle of the river.  Though he did not speak, Krystyl got the distinct impression that his action was intended to mean "[uncomplimentary comparison to a female dog], I'd skin you like a fish if I wasn't after that little butterball on the horse."  It was then, and only then (after she had used a fair number of her fingers for counting purposes), that she realized just exactly who it was she had insulted and who the "ratty looking fat kid" must have been.

"No!  This isn't right!  Where's Arwen? [POOP!]," she exclaimed as she tried REALLY hard to remember just what it was that Arwen had said in the movie…"Ah HA! Nemo hit thigh gear last oh Beth diary…[from the German for "to strike"!]…something something…BRUINEN!!...[FECAL MATTER!]…something…YOU LIAR!!!" she shouted triumphantly.  If she hadn't known better she'd have thought that the Witch King was laughing at her.  His disembodied wraith shoulders shook as though he were laughing.  Krystyl, however, wasn't paying much attention to _him any more.  On the opposite bank a tall, slim, incredibly kissable guy was building a fire.  After several moments' thought, an idea occurred to her—__he must be an ELF!  THAT MUST BE LEGOLAS!!!  Leg-o-las, Leg-o-las, Leg-o-las-las-LAS!—her brain sang to the tune of the William Tell Overture.__  OK, don't freak out. Must appear suave and cool so that he thinks I'm a mature intelligent adult who is not too young for him to have sex with rather than a hormone-crazed-fifteen-year-old-horn-ball._

The Nazgûl were all jiggling with silent wraithish laughter and decidedly NOT paying enough attention to the water as right at that moment a bigass *consults thesaurus* deluge washed them downstream.

"Serves you right!  That's what you get for laughing at Krystiana, Elf Maiden Warrior Princess!" Krystyl crowed.  She had thought extensively about what she would want to be called if she ever found herself in Middle-earth, and today, as fortune would have it, she had.

_Oh yeah, gloating isn't very attractive—she remembered and promptly shut up.  When she looked back across the water toward *swoon* Leeeegolas…and those other guys…she experienced a mild heart palpitation.  __He was coming towards her.  __He was crossing the river and getting all wet and sexy in his clingy clothes.  __He was almost there!_

"MOVE!" he barked, brushing past her and bounding up the hill.  He grabbed the white hors…Asfaloth's (and for once she was right) reins, mounted quickly behind Frodo and tore off into the woods.  It was then that Krystyl came to a devastating conclusion—_he didn't sweep me off my feet.  He didn't notice my great tits!  Oh God NO!!!  Legolas is GAY!!!_

Immediately, she began to eye the scruffy (but muscular and undeniably hot) guy that was now trudging across the Ford followed by three more hobbits who she could only assume (again correct *gasp*) were Sam, Merry, and Pippin.  _How DARE he corrupt my sweet little elf boy?!  In mere moments, she had worked herself into a foaming, angry, frenzy.  __Not unattractive…intense!—she assured herself as she stormed up to the man._

"Aragorn!  You keep your dirty, bath-needing hands OFF MY precious, innocent little Leggy!  Got it, bull-queer?!" she screeched.  Without hesitation, Aragorn drew a dagger and set it to her throat.

"How do you know my true name, who is this "Leggy," and what is a bull-queer?" he demanded coolly.

"Listen, EVERYbody knows who you really are and we all really wish you'd, like, lay off the "Strider" [cowpie].  Leggy is Legolas…,"

"How do you know Legolas?" Aragorn interrupted.

"Legolas is a _close personal friend of mine," she said snottily._

"And a bull-queer?"  Krystyl thought fast (well…as fast as possible) to come up with something as Aragorn had not lowered his blade.

"Um…a bull-queer is a…uh…strong, noble…all around good guy," she answered, putting on her most dazzling, suburban, orthodontically straightened smile.

"Very well," he growled and walked on leading the three hobbits by her as he continued to Rivendell.  Krystyl caught up and began to walk beside him.  _He is going to be king, after all.  And I guess he doesn't smell THAT bad…smells kinda manly actually.  If Legolas really IS gay, I guess I could settle for this one…_

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AN: Sorry this has been so long…not that anyone has been banging down my door for another chapter…but here it is.  I actually took it down because I didn't think I was going to continue (partly, because I wasn't getting much feedback or encouragement), but someone, Ceno I believe it was, made a request.  It seems futile to beg for reviews so I'll just ask nicely.  Could you please find it in the kindness of your heart, dear reader, to leave me a review?   ~DR


	3. Elrond Schmelrond

What SHOULD Happen to All Mary Sues

(Elrond Schmelrond)

"Where do you think you are going?" asked Aragorn eyeing Krystyl with distaste.

"I'm coming with you to Rivendell, duh?" she said in her snottiest teenager tone.

"Look, I've already shaken three of you girls off our trail.  Can you not take a hint?  One of them hurled herself at Frodo right as he put on the ring to go invisible.  She knocked him right into the Witch King.  That's how he got stabbed.  And the other two flung themselves at me.  I dodged of course and she went hurdling off the edge of Weathertop…made a bit of a mess, I can tell you.  Honestly, you'd think Merry and Pippin would be easier targets.  I mean really, you people are more persistent than those damned Nazgûl," he growled back.

"I'm different though…"

"More irritating…" grumbled Aragorn under his breath.

"Didn't you hear me?  I'm Kristiana, Elf Maiden Warrior Princess," Krystyl said proudly, her voice like the music of the River Nimrodel—which isn't very musical at all when you come to think about it.  How many musical rivers have YOU ever met?  Anyway, Aragorn cringed.

"Yes? The first three were…what were they Merry?  Pip?"

"Arrogant, dangerously stupid, twits?"  Merry offered.  Aragorn snorted a derisive laugh.  Krystyl ignored him.  _Obviously jealous of my beauty.  I will gaze at them with my *quests for synonym* azure eyes so that they know how I pity them in their severe need for a makeover.  I'll help them shave their feet when we get to Rivendell…_

"What were their names?" the ranger clarified.

"Oh," said the hobbit flatly.  "The one that tackled Frodo called herself Ellysia, Princess of the Starlight Wood…"

"And the other two were Soren, Elf Maiden of the Galadrim—riiiight, she wasn't THAT much taller than me and she didn't have pointy ears or that ethereal light—and Andariel, Ranger of the Northlands—which I think she made up because she was barely out of diapers and Strider here didn't know her," finished Pippin.

"They all ignored us too," said Merry pointedly.

"Why is she looking at us like that?" Pippin whispered to Merry, not taking his eyes off the leering fangirl.  "You don't think these creatures eat hobbits do you?"  Merry shrugged.

"I dunno.  I hope not.  What's wrong with her hair?" Merry whispered back loudly enough that she _should have been able to hear it had she not been ignoring them so hard._

"I do hope Master Frodo will be alright," said Sam (who the author got carried away being a bitch and forgot entirely until this very moment).

Several days—_days? It took thirty seconds in the movie!  How ever will I survive with no Twinkies or potato chips?  No TV?  Without seeing my darling Legolas?—later, they arrived at the house of Elrond.  Of course, while none of them had bathed in days, Krystyl's stagnant body odor was that of honeysuckle and fresh linen because, as they saying goes, *comical southern drawl* she thinks her shit don't stink._

Elrond himself greeted Aragorn at the gates.  _Oh, Elrond schmelrond! HE'S not cute!  C'mon…greetings…need a shave…yadda yadda yadda…the rest of the pudgy ones…blahdy blahdy blah…shadow descending…Frodo OK…all this I know, let's GO!—her brain babbled over the introductions.  At last, her cornflower orbs found something worthwhile to gaze hypnotically at.  Legolas, it seemed was near the front of this geeky, dress wearing, not blonde elf's *asks Merriam* entourage._

As soon as Elrond hushed and the crowd began to disperse, Krystyl sauntered toward—_my darling, Leggy-poo—making sure that her blackish, chestnut-auburn hair with its trailer trash variety of blonde "highlights", cascaded tastefully over her Pamela Anderson-esque boobs.  __OK.  Suave-intelligent-sexy-adult, suave-intelligent-sexy-adult, that's me…I am a suave-intelligent-sexy adult.  He knows he wants me.  I can see it in his eyes._

Glorfindel regarded the rather short, garishly clad gnome before him incredulously.  He recognized her from the Ford.  _Ha!  He's hypnotized by my irresistible beauty and charm!  I KNEW he wasn't gay!  Glorfindel opened his mouth to tell the girl, in short, to sod off, but he was not given the opportunity.  Krystyl pressed her long, delicate, slender finger to his lips.  Then, she spoke, her voice the gentle purr of a soft evening breeze through autumn leaves,_

"Hush now.  Tis my pleasure you meet you at long last, my most handsome prince of Mirkwood.  Whither wilt thou lead me that we mayest speak together in private, for there is much that I would say, and many tokens of your love that you wish to bestow upon me," she finished.  She reached up (imagine, for a moment, a 5'6", teenage girl trying to put the chop on a six and a half foot tall, 5000 year old elf) and stroked his blonde tresses, their texture like the yellow corn silk of the fall harvest beneath her dainty digits.

"I beg your pardon?" said Glorfindel, his scowl deepening.

"Tis I, Kristiana, Elf Maiden Warrior Princess!  What concern thus twists thy fair brow?  Tis I, of whom the prophecy bespoke."

"What prophecy and why are you talking that way?"

"Why, the prophecy that you would wander the green paths of thy home, Mirkwood, 'til thou chanced to meet one young and fair.  One not of your world, but princess of a distant and enchanting land, you would meet.  Tis scrawled in the stars that none but she shall content you—none but she shall quiet your craving to cross the sea," Krystyl rambled on.  She didn't understand why Legolas wasn't buying it.  It was so easy in all the fics she'd read.   There was _always a secret prophecy that only __he knew about._

"Oh.  Oh! _THAT prophecy.  You'll be wanting Legolas, not me," Glorfindel said, and turned to go._

"WHAT?!" she screeched.  "Who the hell are YOU then?!"  The blonde elf stuck his finger in his ear to make sure it wasn't bleeding.

"Glorfindel is my name, and if you'd bothered to start from the beginning rather than at the Council of Elrond, when _he shows up, you'd know that.  And I suppose you think that Asfaloth is Arwen's horse?," he said, his voice beginning to grow louder._

"Well, actually, I thought that he was Leggy's…"

"He's not!  He's MY horse—not Arwen's, not _Leggy's, MINE!" he bellowed, and stalked off._

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AN:  Alright!  Now that we've got THAT straightened out…what will happen when she meets the REAL "Leggy"?  Will he be everything she hoped and imagined?  Will he fall helplessly in love with her like he's SUPPOSED to?  *snort* Fat chance…:D             ~DR 


	4. Oh. There's Arwen. -or- What's Wrong Wit...

Further Disclaimer:  Because I am paranoid, I feel that I should state that I neither own nor profit from referencing the copyrighted titles, music, lyrics, etc. of Enya or Britney Spears or their respective music labels…Peace, man.

What SHOULD Happen To All Mary Sues

(Oh.  There's Arwen.-or- What's Wrong With This Picture?)

The Day-Glo yellow of Krystyl's mangled shirt still shone painfully brightly through all the dirt and grime.  She began to sing to herself as she walked confidently toward the door that would, of course, lead her to her chambers.  Elves, one and all, who populated the courtyard turned to stare.  _Jealous.__  Jealous.  Jealous.  Ooo! VERY jealous!—she thought.  Her face twisted itself into what she thought, was a very fetching, benevolent, grateful and yet all the while demure expression.  To everyone else it resembled a very smug, not smug…something as she tried to smirk and not smirk—__Humble, DAMMIT!—simultaneously.  __Hmm!  Poor thing.  I know mine put hers to shame, but that's no reason for her to cover her ears that way._

In fact, that wasn't the reason at all.  All the elves stared, true.  And many of them covered their ears—but this was actually because the muddy little garden gnome in their midst was so terribly out of tune, both with Nature  (because of her shirt) and with the actual melody of "May It Be" (because she couldn't have carried a tune if it had stapled itself to her hand), that it bordered on offense.  When, she had *ahem* treated them to the final few chords (because, of course, she could sing more pitches at the same time than the London Philharmonic Orchestra) of the haunting song.  _Aww__.__  They liked it—she beamed to herself as all the elves in the courtyard finished cringing and breathed a collective sigh of relief—__I'll have to let them know "I'm not that innocent" later._

The handle of the door Aragorn had gone through was now under her acrylic tipped fingers.  It sounded like a small hurricane and at least six wild horses raged within.  Without a thought, Krystyl began to turn the knob.

"You're not going to let her do it, are you Glorfindel?" asked a black-haired elf from the relative safety of a nearby portico.  Glorfindel's mouth twisted into a malicious grin.

"Of course I am," he smirked, casting a sideways glance at Legolas.  "That one thought I was you, too.  But I do not believe that Arwen will need any introduction if they are in there doing what I _think they're…," he began, but did not finish.  There was a loud crash as Krystyl disengaged the latch and the door flew open, depositing Aragorn and, beneath him, a very *how to put this delicately…?* compromisingly positioned Arwen.  With one great heave, the willowy, somewhat disheveled elf *ahem* maiden verily launched the rather large, shave needing man off of her and sprang to her feet, grey eyes ablaze with fury.  Now any sensible person/elf would have burned down to a small, extremely apologetic puddle of scorched goo under such a look as Arwen (again, let us imagine a six-foot-tall, 2000-year-old, enraged Amazon who has just been caught with her proverbial pants down, glaring down at a dirt and slime crusted, insufferable little know-it-all who hasn't got the sense to keep her trap shut) now gave Krystyl._

"Arwen!...Sister! How long has't…" she began in her most melodious, charming, winning, ingratiating, unctuous voice.  Aragorn grinned—as did Glorfindel and Legolas.

"NEVER!  EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" bellowed the (AUTHENTIC) elf princess.

"Arwen…"

"I know my name, and MY name is 'My Lady Undomiel' to YOU!  Now EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" she snarled.  Finally catching on, Krystyl sidled away and cowered in Aragorn's lap.  The son of Arathorn raised his hands, wisely, in a submissive gesture and winced as Arwen advanced on the terrified, quivering mass of the mighty Warrior Princess who had tried to take refuge in his lap.  It was a most foolish place to "hide".

"I was just looking for my room…"

"YOUR ROOM IS NOT BETWEEN THE LEGS OF MY INTENDED!  THAT WAY!" Arwen screeched, flinging her arm out to indicate the proper direction.  The elf's face was flushed red with anger, Krystyl's with embarrassment.  _Bitch, slut, uppity little, pointy eared, NOT blonde, Aragorn hogging, not EVEN as pretty as Liv Tyler, so-n-so, BITCH!—Krystyl sulked as she slunk away._

"Jeez.  PMS, much?" the 15-year-old's wounded pride compelled her to say under her breath, forgetting how sharp elvish hearing is.

"WHAT?!" she shrieked.  She whirled and launched the silver circlet that had slipped nearly out of her disarrayed hair, discus-like, at the sprinting girl.  The adornment sparked when it glanced off a stone pillar just behind and to Krystyl's right.

"Your aim needs work," Aragorn commented blandly from the ground.  Arwen growled.  Legolas and Glorfindel were unable to speak.  They had collapsed in a heap of laughter on the ground.

"SHUT UP YOU TWO!" she yelled.  They couldn't.  They continued to laugh as she fumed out of the courtyard, Aragorn at her heels.

"Ai! Glory…Honey," began Legolas wiping a tear from his eye, "that was SO worth it!  I haven't seen her that mad since Aragorn used her razor to shave his butt!"

"I KNOW!" Glorfindel roared.  The pair of them laughed until their sides hurt and they could no longer breathe.  Then, Legolas, eyeing the open broom closet door, elbowed his *ahem* companion and asked with a wink,

"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

"Hmm.  I'm not sure.  I think we'd better check," grinned the elder.  Glorfindel stood and helped the black-haired price to his feet.  A few sniggers later, they were safely shut in the pitch dark closet, fumbling with hooks and buttons.

"Did you lock it?" Legolas snickered.

"I did.  But wouldn't it be more amusing if that pint sized pain in the posterior came back and found her 'destined love'," Glorfindel affected a high feminine voice and batted his long eyelashes in the dark, "in the arms of, well…_me," he finished, hugging Legolas sharply to him._

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AN:  OK, I didn't mean for this to happen exactly this way, but…what can I say?  I swore I'd never write slash.  This is an exception; and I feel justified, because I think this is what SHOULD happen to the presumptuous little twit.  Just be aware…things can always get worse ;)                        ~DR—OH! And Katie…I don't want to hear ANY MORE about it!  hehe ;-D


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